Ever wondered what it would be like to get a tongue piercing? What it would be like to feel a piece of metal rip the flesh from the bodies' strongest muscle. No double entendre intended, mind you.
At A Glance Author killy Contact killy@bme.anon IAM jackxoffxcunt When Two years ago Artist Tommy Studio Butch's Tattoo Location KC,MO Well, you're in luck. I happen to have the perfect story for you to feist upon, dear reader. Well...at least this happens to be how mine went. The first piercing besides my at that point in time, my wretchedly-sized 18 gauge ears that I was allowed to venture out into.
It all started on a usual winter day. I was bored, sitting at my friends house playing bass guitar while he instant messaged some "girl of the week." But this wasn't just any normal day. For some odd reason, one simple thought crossed my mind. "I want a piercing", it said.
I couldn't quite figure out why I thought of this. But I did. So using my trusty cellular, I called my house, begging my parentals to let me get this done, claiming that I knew just the place. Reality check, I didn't. But I heard of a few that we're clean and cheap. So, long story short, my 'rents said yes and my dad came and picked me up.
After close detail (and knowing that my friend had her tongue there a few months earlier, we decided on Artistic Tattoo, down in Knobtown, a quaint little place in the middle of nowhere. We went in, eyeing the inside of the parlor as we waited for bugs and baby brains. I signed all the pieces of paper about allergies, if I was on medications, mind-altering substances, or a hemophiliac. Tough work that was...all my dad had to do was sign his name.
The piercer, whose name escapes me at the moment, took us to the back where the piercing room was. Handing me a cup of gold-colored liquid. I knew it would be an off-brand Listerine, but I didn't think it would taste as bad as it had.
While the stuff was still in my mouth(SHUT UP PERVS), the guy was asking me a million different questions, of which I was thankfully able to just move my head for as they were all "yes or no's". Until I spit the liquid into the sink.
"How old are you?" he asked. I said that I was 17. "Oh, it's more for minors. We really don't condone piercings before you're 18."
So, I didn't have the money. I was slightly short on borrowed cash, and sadly, my dad refused to loan me the money. But I was bound and determined to get this piercing one way or another. So, with a backup plan in hand, I off-handedly mentioned "Butch's", a place my friend had gotten her eyebrow done at. And the best part was they only charged exactly what I had.
We drove the trek all around Independence and back, attempting to find the exit, or at least, the street it was located on. My father claimed to know where he was going the whole time. Though after about 20 minutes of circling around, we found it. Right off of the highway...on the other side of the street he claimed to know. It was the most noticeable little shop there, covered in graffiti and lights, and surrounded by motorcycles.
Like I had done not even an hour before at Artistic, I signed papers and waited. When it was finally my turn, I went into the back, my dad following slowly behind. Sitting in what looked to be a rejected dentist chair, I readied myself. Not knowing what to expect pain-wise from this needle that was much larger than my ear's piercing guns (Yes, my lobes we're originally pierced with a gun.)
First, Tommy, the piercer, had me gargle with Listerine. A much-better tasting one than before. Then, throwing on his rubber gloves, he wiped down my tongue with a paper towel to rid of excess saliva and made a line with purple ink. Checking the mark in the mirror, I gave the OK. Making me hold a tissue under my chin, Tommy took the clamp and the needle from their airtight packaging, a relief for my father.
"Breathe in on three." He told me. "One, two, three."
I could feel the piercing breaking through the muscles in my tongue. I mean, the tongue is all muscle, so there's nothing else to through. Sitting there with a hollow piece of metal through my tongue, making careful not to swallow. Though, what would my first instinct be? I've got my throat filling up with my own saliva, part of it going down my chin, which is the reason I had a tissue.
Pushing an overly long barbell into the end of the needle, he pulled it through my tongue and screwed the balls on tight. A silver piece of metal now lived in my tongue.
Healing on it was easy as pie, which I couldn't eat. I was living on Soup-at-Hand's and mashed potatoes, but other than that, I was fine. And it healed well.